Living and Falling
by opal star
Summary: Ginny is just doing her job. As is Draco. It's a shame really that they're so different when an accident and a whole lot of bad coincidence throws them together. Chapter Four: An argument, a raid and bath.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I think you all know the drill. **

**A/N: I'm a quietly militant D/G shipper, but got sick of all the fluffy romances and decided to write a fic with a slightly darker side. Anyways, this is unbetaed, and in the need for a re-write. Enjoy.**

**Warnings: This fic is an M... I think. R-rated anyways on the old system. This is due to some pretty strong language and at some points a bit of violence. Er, D/G?**

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**Chapter One**

Ginny had never got chance at Apparation training at school. Nor, whenever she had a spare moment (whatever they were), enquired into getting some lessons. Molly begged and begged, often to the point of tears, trying to persuade her daughter to at least try, telling her over and over again that the skies and Floo were far too dangerous for someone to be travelling through _these days_.

At this, Ginny simply smiled and thought about what her mother's face would do if she were informed that her only daughter had been flying, alone, at night, these past six months, all the way to her home.

_It's fate. I'm not meant to Apparate, Mum!_

But the truth was that there was always someone there who could Apparate her to safety – her brothers, Hermione, Luna… Harry… She was always with them when the need for disappearing quickly cropped up. And, although no one came even close to admitting, if anyone really wanted you, an anti-Apparation charm net would be over the you, the house, the street, minutes before you knew anything…

As she sat in her little office in London, ignoring the inter-departmental memo's soaring and crashing above her head, travelling was the very last thing on her mind. Resisting the urge to send periodical burst of flames above her head to finally halt the flocks of paper was a slightly higher priority. When she had arrived this morning at quarter past nine, there were already swarms in the lifts and a nice welcome committee of them, waiting for her as she plonked herself down into her chair behind her desk. As time passed however, there was barely a flutter as the odd, last pieces of paper made their way to their rightful owners.

Ginny glanced at her watch.

8.35

_Shit. _

Contrary to her childhood memories, summer evenings really did not last very long. It was early August and already the night was sweeping in earlier and earlier, the uncharacteristic hiccup of _actual_ good weather tricking her into thinking otherwise. While the windows around her still depicted cornfield blue skies and cotton wool clouds, the world outside was likely to be more of a navy variety…

Within seven and half minutes, she had dived into a closing lift and began jabbing the surface button repeatedly.

_Why is there always a door open button, but never a doors close button? Why?_

After what seemed a lifetime, the golden doors glided shut and Ginny felt her self ascend to the world above. The warm lights reminded her of the sleep she longed owed her body and she made a mental note (while checking in the mirrors if she had anything in her teeth) to go straight to bed.

It was rather disconcerting to be the only one travelling in the elevator, no matter what time of day. Ginny enjoyed the room, twirling around once or twice and checking that she didn't have anything stuck on her face or clothes. Her last visit to the Twin's shop had been a week or two ago, but she was always slightly wary of her appearance afterwards.

A chime, a low grumble and the fountain was in front of her. Here at least there were some humans walking around. A few nodded at her politely as she passed. She glanced up as she walked across the Atrium, and saw only the gilded symbols in ceiling awash with shade. Everyday she promised herself she'd find out what they really meant, how they worked…

Luckily, her shoes were not the only ones clipping the floor. Several workers were Apparating around her, their _pops _merely adding to the noises that the fountain was making. The fireplace's weren't exactly deserted either, now she looked – people coming and going on both sides. Returning home or to the graveyard shift…

"Ginny! Hey, Gin, wait!"

She turned around, instantly recognising the voice. It was Ron, running towards her, though when he realised a lot of people were staring he toned it down to a slow jog. Despite this, he grinned as he drew up to her. By the arrival fireplaces, someone – who had obviously arrived with Ron – waved at her. She gave a half-hearted return, not entirely sure who it was.

"Ron!" A brief hug. This could possibly be the worse time to see a blood relative when all she wanted to do was fly alone, at night, all the way home. "Erm, hi. Wha-What are you doing here?"

_Smile. Just smile. _

How she missed the day her brother's love and trust could be brought with a few Chocolate Frogs…

"Oh nothing much. I was sent to see you and Dad among other things." He grinned. But then returned to his, obviously fake, business tone. "He's been working late, again. And I've been given the honourable task of making sure you take more secure routes home."

Ginny rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "What makes Mum think I'm not?"

"Well," Ron started, and repressing a groan, Ginny knew instinctively it would be a colourful rendition… "We were sitting in the kitchen – me, Mum, Bill and Hermione – and Mum was looking at the clock. Which made me check the time, nearly nine at night. Your hand was on 'Travelling' for like… eleven minutes. And then Mum said-" his pitch went higher "-_That girl spends too long travelling._" Cough. "So Bill said 'I bet she's flying-'"

_Oh crap._

Ron was watching her face very carefully. Ginny took a chance and grinned easily, pinching his cheek. "Yeah I get it Ronnikins. Relax – you can tell Mum I'm not flying home. I was probably walking a lot."

She could tell that Ron knew she was lying. If her voice sounded half as fake as she thought it, he'd see right through her.

But he simply shrugged, loosing his playful demeanour. "I don't mind, Gin. But if I hear you're doing it in winter-"

The beginning of a temper began to flare. A flock of worrying, nosey and annoying brothers were the last thing she needed, on top of the weekly earfuls she was getting from her moth. "Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? What are you going to do? Tell Dad!"

Ron scowled. Perhaps it was what she said, or perhaps it was the way her voice raised dangerously. "Would you listen to him?"

_No._

Ginny sighed and rubbed her face, feeling the tensions behind her forehead ready to explode. This is why she flew home – not for the thrills, and certainly not for the views – but for the way that the wind whipped away all other thoughts except getting from one place to another. Everything was so simple up there. There was basically no room for anything else.

When she opened her eyes, Ron was looking as sheepish as she felt. She gave him a reassuring smile. "Ok, fine. No more flying. I wasn't going to – I don't even have a broom on me!"

And, ignoring the slightly curious looks she was getting, she muttered goodbye, walked away and removing her Ministry tags; she pulled the door shut on one of the visitor exits.

_Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic. We trust you had an enjoyable time. _

Too used to the message, and too tired to think of anything original to say back at it, Ginny walked out into the street without a word.

Almost immediately after she left the dilapidated telephone box, she tightened her coat. Warm days, they might be, but warm evenings they were not. Avoiding the bit of traffic at the end of the street, and making her way around the remains of the day's market, the distance between her and a designated flying spot lessened.

Above, the cloud mottled, darkening sky called to her.

* * *

Draco put out a cigarette by chucking it inside a flowerpot and returned his gaze to the horizon.

Not that you could see much.

He exhaled through his nose. _Might stop the damned thing from freezing off._ Even though he was wearing his best new summer cloak, he hadn't expected to be mooching around in some person's garden at dusk, staring into the sky.

They were miles and miles away from the city, almost in the country, and yet the vile, repulsive glow of Muggle London could still be seen. The caustic yellow filled up the sky, ate up all the stars and yet didn't manage to light the sky. Behind him and the house, the sun had set about fifteen minutes ago. The heavens above him varied from a diluted periwinkle to indigo… or at least they would if that damned city wasn't there. But where he could see the blue, that wasn't interrupted by cloud or pollution, it seemed so endless and clear…

To his right, his companion hopped from one foot to another.

Draco watched him for as long as it took to confirm that the movement was excitement rather than an urge to keep warm.

"You know this is fucking sick, Hearne."

Another hop. "Whatever. Irony, Malfoy, look it up. And anyway - I need some fun in my younger days." He turned with grin, barely illuminated by the dieing light. "We're not all veterans."

Something wiggled in his stomach. "You're three years older than me," he muttered subversively.

"You know what I mean."

A surge of insults and replies entered his head so fast that the best option seemed to get out another cigarette.

Hearne brought out his own pack, rattled it and chuckled when he discovered there was only one left.

"You got a light?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, then brought out his wand.

"Ever seen one of these?" he asked, waving the object around around. _Lazy git. _

"Can't conjure flames all that well. Dunno why. C'mon, Malfoy. It's a friggin' _light_."

_How on earth did he manage to become a Deatheater? _Draco then leant forward and lit it with the biggest flame he could create. A burning tower of blue fire shot up and rippled about seven feet their heads. The cigarette had disappeared, disintegrated most likely, along with some of Hearne's eyebrows.

"Twat! You _bloody_ twat!" Hearne hissed, his volume of speech making it more like a suppressed scream. "That could be seen for miles!"

"Oh I am sorry. I didn't realise." Draco bit his lip and poked Hearne in the chest with his wand at the same time. "Do you think we'll get in trouble with the Ministry? Gosh, do you reckon any Muggles saw?"

Hearne batted away the wand. "Piss off. You know they were due five minutes ago. They could have seen _that_." Several plants and flowerpots were kicked viciously. "_Twat_!"

Draco would not be sorry to have to call the whole damned night off. He waited for the Terrible Flower Kicker to calm down. "I don't understand why we have to do it like this. If you want to show off you're flying at least do it where your girlfriend can see you. I bet she's at home now, thinking what a brave boy you are-"

"For the last time, she's not my girlfriend!"

_Yeah right. _"Fine then. Why can't we just do what _works?_ As much as I love this… idea, Avada Kedavra has had some previous testing, I hear, and it appears to work."

His voice fell on deaf ears, and the irregular little jumps became a full-blown dance. "She's here!"

Sure enough, from the southwest and to the right of him, a figure was slowly emerging from that yellow cloud, nipping from one bank of cloud to another. She, whoever they really were, remained in sight for barely a second or two before disappearing. Merlin new how this git could have seen that. At a glance the shape might have passed as a rather large blackbird but with every passing moment, its proportions became too wrong for any animal.

Hearne grabbed the broom leaning against the shed, stole Draco's cigarette from out of his mouth and mounted as he ran up the garden. "See you later, prick!"

Draco, minus his cigarette, watched the larger figure skirt the hedgerows beneath the flying figure for what could have been miles, but were merely seconds, and begin to sweep up behind. He was loathe to join in, aside from the fact that Hearne would be even more annoying if anyone, especially Draco Malfoy, tried to muscle their way into his prize. Hearne always wanted solo trips – which no one would grant him, unsurprisingly – so made do with the next best thing: doing all the work himself. Which Draco had absolutely no problem with.

At the moment, his comrade had disappeared, not even the slightest flicker betrayed his whereabouts.

Instead of finding a broom for himself, he simply chose to amble down the lawn, following path his partner had created in the early dew, continuing when the other set of footprints disappeared. A golden moon, not quite full, was beginning to rise of the yellow smoke.

There was short wall at the bottom of garden, which separated this wilderness from some fields. After treading over some vegetation – he couldn't possibly call them flowers – he swung himself onto it and made himself comfortable. Everything would unfold in front of him, all in plain sight. Well, as in plain sight as possible.

A small smile appeared on his face as he watched the now smaller figure of Hearne slowly closing in upon the next victim of gravity.

* * *

Ah… finally.

Ginny Weasley was soaked to the bone. Within seconds of remaining inside cloud cover, she was soaked. And she'd been flying for over half an hour. Her promise to Ron would easily be kept about not flying in winter – August was bad enough.

Despite her body's urge to slip into autopilot, she'd concentrated entirely through the journey and stayed strictly within cover – sacrificing the semi-decent state her hair was in. Nothing had happened, as usual. She'd put a charm on her want to make sure it didn't fall out of her pocket, kept her flight path random (she flew all the way into Surrey before turning east back into Kent tonight) and followed every last rule she could remember. She'd persuaded Charlie to put so many wards on her broom she was surprised it could still fly.

She felt alive, the cobwebs from her desk had faded away and she could breathe again. A grin split onto her face. Soon she'd be home, listening to the radio with a hot cup of tea. Maybe she'd even do some paper work. Or maybe she'd just get that early night she'd promised herself for longer than-

With a sudden jerk, her broom jolted to the side as if on a piece of string. A scream was caught in her throat and Ginny just managed to stay on, her vision and senses momentarily jarred. All she could see was her hair, her breathing the only noise and staying on her broom her only priority. When her head snapped back, she caught the sight of red sparks streaming past her face.

_Oh no. _

Grabbing hold of the handle more firmly she pulled up, ignoring the cold and wet, and attempted to disappear into a cloud.

Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe it was just her brother's playing a practical joke on her. Or maybe, just maybe, her luck had finally run out.

Something slammed into her side and her thoughts and breath were knocked out her in one go. A black figure to the right of her. A surge of something – adrenaline, fear, anger – roared through her head, blinding all of her thoughts.

She pulled her broom up to almost vertical.

The wind snapped at her hair and cloak, pushing her back, and jostling her around. Risking a glance over her shoulder she saw the figure closing in on her, seemingly none too bothered by her evasive turns. She looked around for as long as she dared, squinting through the mist of a sudden cloud, not able to spare a hand to pull her hair from her eyes. Was that two more?

Her stomach dropped when she realised something was pulling her backwards.

* * *

Draco sat quietly on the wall. He wasn't going to deny that this was a little twisted. Merlin knew what Hearne wanted to do, he didn't know at all, not really; only that it involved catching her in the air. Which was never normal.

"_Irony, Malfoy. Look it up."_

But not only was it… odd, it opened the doors to millions of problems. In fact, it positively invited them, with a huge, red, flashing sign saying, "Free entry to Problems". That's why he was here on the ground, watching the show unfold in front of him, keeping an eye on Hearne. Stupid git hadn't the capacity to see beyond his rather long nose.

Moodily, he lit his cigarette, watching the figures sweeping and diving in the sky. His mother was constantly nagging him to quit smoking, and to be honest at the moment he didn't _need_ one at all. She said it looked uncouth, the magical ones so similar to the Muggle that they were often confused. He took a drag and felt nothing – not the relief he used to experience, or the calmness settle in his stomach. Still, he continued smoking.

This is not how he imagined he would have to spend any night of his life.

It was rather hypnotising, watching. He felt detached, looking on from his little wall, like it wasn't happening at all. The figures swooping in and out of the cover were like birds.

And then the girl pulled up vertical, spinning, avoiding all the spells that were soaring out of Hearne's wand.

Another drag.

She was a good flyer; he'd give her that, much better than Hearne.

Then they disappeared into a huge bank of cloud. Draco stared at it for a few minutes, before realising why panic was growing in the pit of his gut. They had not only disappeared into a massive, opaque cloud (not like the threads of mist they were playing in a minutes ago) but it was also almost completely submerged in darkness. The darkness, he discovered to his dismay, which had crept over him, the house and the rest of the landscape.

Slowly, he pulled himself off the wall, falling (further than he thought) into the field. He walked through the stubby plants for a few metres, cigarette in mouth, gawping at the sky like an idiot.

Not only were there free pints luring the problems in, but now with a free trip to somewhere hot, contraceptives supplied.

It was shortly after this thought that he saw the two figures falling from the sky.

"Oh. Shit."

One on his left, one on his right. Who was who?

He could imagine his Lord's face if he took his chances and saved the wrong person.

Swallowing, he ran forward screaming off a charm at the dark blob falling on his right. A silvery blanket shot out, making it's way to the person. When Draco's sight turned to the left, the figure was already alarmingly close to the ground and, distracted, a thin and patchy swathe of the silvery white stuff streamed across the sky. He had no time to watch the other person as they floated at a less daunting speed into the ground.

There was a dull thud.

He sprinted madly to where the sound had come from, half jumping over the plants that, despite their stubby size, seemed to get in the way.

A darkish lump caught his eye.

Draco turned the body over quickly, kneeling on the floor, panting, whispering prayers and thoughts into the night.

"_Hearne?_"

Falling. The wind catching her breath. The mindless simplicity of nothing. The roaring of air past her ears. The ground calling to her…

Her dream was spreading, the black tendrils creeping into her vision now joined with a white cover, lessening the howl of the wind.

_Still, the ground rose to meet her. _

_Don't. Pass. Out. _

"_Hearne?_ Oh _Mer_lin."

There wasn't as much blood as he expected, or at least, the night had absorbed all that he couldn't see. It was the odd angle at which Hearne was now lieing, not his neck exactly, but his back, which was not good. His skin was pale, he wasn't moving and there was a nasty gash in his hair somewhere, and blood slowly seeped in ever increasing tendrils down his face.

Draco didn't want to touch him, let alone steal himself to check if he was alive or not.

Though if he was honest with himself, Draco wasn't sure what he was more apprehensive about – calling in for more help, or being held responsible because he had left his comrade alone.

"_Shit_."

The sky above him mocked him, the rolling clouds now drifting in front of the moon.

He racked his brain through the night. It had all gone so fast.

The orders had come through. They had Apparated nearby and walked the rest of the way. Cigarettes. Through a little village, past a noisy Muggle pub – it was Monday and Hearne had wondered aloud why there was so much ruckus, receiving no answer but a scoff. The house. Finding the broom. Cigarettes. Hearne's face when he had thought was his flawless, evil scheme. Waiting. More smoking. More talking. Stealing. Flying. Sitting. Then his desperate charms on the falling figures.

Draco didn't like to remember the fear that had coursed through his veins. Actual fear. He didn't particularly like Hearne – in fact, he rather hated the git – but he didn't deserve to die, not like this, in the middle of a _fucking field_.

Something snapped behinds him and he threw himself to the side. A nasty coloured yellow curse disappeared into the night. His head had connected with some hard and indignant pain screamed. Wheeling around, wand in hand, he fired off whatever curse came strongest to mind, only to find it bouncing back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - Same old. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**

**A/N - Ummmm, chapter two. I quite like this one. The ending is a litte fubbed but still. It's what you get when you write it at night, after hours of revision. Slightly more violence, slightly less swearing. Slightly. looks around. Still M**

* * *

Ginny studied the figure in front of her carefully as she concentrated on her breathing. A car flew past on the deserted road, and she knew the nearest person more miles – Muggle or other – had just disappeared around the corner very rather noisily.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

A pause. "Who the hell do you think?"

She swallowed. There was blood trickling down his forehead, making tracks over his eyebrows and falling into and into his eye. She seemed to be the only one who noticed though. Unshakable, his wand remained pointed roughly above her heart. He looked back at her blankly and she searched his face, scanning his features for something she could recognise. But it was so dark – the pinkish yellow glow of the recently lit streetlight barely reached this part of the field. The clouds rolled above silently, like benign purple blankets.

His hood was down, and his mask nowhere to be seen. Ginny was slightly unnerved to see him so… unguarded. A shock of light hair but the rest of his face was in shade, the intensity of darkness only varying where the blood crawled down his face.

She could feel him studying her and she rearranged the grip on her wand.

Whoever he was, he licked his lips before speaking, moving his head to the side. "It looks like we have a slight problem here."

Maybe it was the intensity of the situation, but all Ginny Weasley wanted to do then was laugh hysterically. Instead, she answered, "Yeah, you and you're friends are trying to kill me. That safely enters my dictionary of problems."

A slight smirk appeared on his face, illuminating some of his cheek in the ghostly light. "Oh _excellent_. A comedian."

Her wand was feeling decidedly sticky. A trickle of cold sweat meandered down the small of her back as she quickly did some maths in her head… the person pursuing her up in the sky couldn't have been the person standing in front of her now. Ginny didn't know why she thought this – perhaps it was because he was standing tall and without various bits of debris in his clothes and hair. Unlike herself, she suspected. So that meant there were at least two Deatheaters wandering around this little, empty, exposed field… and she thought she saw at two or three up in the air…

Oh holy mother of Merlin… 

This delicate stalemate, what little chance she had of getting out of this alive was slowly beginning to dry up…

Her face must have also slipped out of concentration for a second, and he moved his foot slightly, snapping a reaction out her.

"Don't move," she whispered, moving her wand up to his eye level. "Were are your friends now?"

He seemed to have no answer to this, and his only response was to stand up a little taller.

She smirked.

"Isn't that interesting. The way I see it, you son of a bitch, is that-"

"It doesn't actually matter what you think-" he interrupted, his voice cutting through her speech like a cold metal, his wand now pointed at her face, "because for all you know, they're could be a whole pack of _my_ _friends_ waiting behind you. You move, I'll kill you. What will you do to me? _Stun_ me?"

Ginny felt disgust and anger rise up, starting to push away the forced calm, at the sound of the arrogance in his voice.

"Do you want me to kill you?" she asked quietly, then, when she didn't get a reply, "What is this, a game to you?"

If Hearne weren't already dead, Draco'd kill him. Maybe he could be brought back to life… just so Draco could kill him himself. Possibly in a very painful and slow way involving matches and whiskey.

Draco looked at the girl in front of him, glaring at him in the uncomplimentary coarse yellow light of the lamp somewhere behind him. She didn't take her eyes off him for a second, and she looked annoyingly alert, biting his head off even when he rearranged his footing. But he could wait. He'd have to wait.

She'd examined him for a while and he'd stared back, trying not to shudder as warm sticky blood wound down his face, reaching all the sensitive parts of his skin. So he'd concentrated on her. Longish curly hair (with an assortment of unwanted objects in it), quite tall and – considering she had just been chased down by a Deatheater with a possible broom fetish – she looked rather, and unnervingly, good. Standard, if slightly messed up, Ministry robes covered a fairly uninspiring selection of jeans and a jumper. She didn't look anything special for her job's sake, and he didn't recognise her from anywhere in his life… Draco began to wonder why exactly anyone would want her dead. But, as he had been told so many times before, these things weren't for him to know. What if he was captured? What if they got a warrant for Veritaserum session? And anyone who sneezed at the wrong time was given a healthy dosage these days.

"…What is this, a game to you?" she breathed, looking at him with an odd expression.

* * *

He smiled, finally realising that she couldn't see his face. "It seems more like we're dancing at the moment, don't you think?"

She stayed quiet, obviously contemplating something.

And then it hit him.

Weasley 

But before he could think anything through, or say anything for himself, she was already talking-

"What do you want?"

She has got to be joking…Oh I just popped in for a cup of tea – the Dark Lord secretly covets your recipe for ginger biscuits… 

"You," he answered simply, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. "Dead."

It was then, with no small amount of satisfaction that he sensed that the wand in front of his eyes was shaking.

This was the little Weasel he was dealing with, the one he'd sneered at, put down all those years ago. He knew she'd grown up, he'd seen her playing silly buggers with the DA, noticed her laughing in the courtyards and corridors with her brother and his friends. This was the girl he'd seen crying in an empty classroom, the girl he embarrassed, the girl who wore handed down robes that were too long… Oh yes, Draco Malfoy could deal with her now.

But she was still taking in the information he has so freely supplied. _You. Dead. _He watched it echo around her little red head.

"Why?"

Shrug. "Orders."

Sounded better than _"Well I don't know, do I?"_

They lapsed into silence again for a few minutes. He continued to watch her, still waiting. She was looking right back at him, her momentary hiccup in confidence had vanished and she was staring at him with shrewd hatred. Still repressing shudders, he felt the blood dry on his face, the cut somewhere just short of his forehead thumping a dull rhythm of pain on the inside of the his skull. His arm was beginning to ache, but he simply shifted the position of his shoulders and consoled himself with the thought of what her arms must be going through.

He decided to break the stillness once more.

* * *

Think, Think, Think

But only one word came to mind:_ Bastard. _

She was more than a little concerned with what she was going to do, and whatever she did; _it_ would have to be quick… Wherever the rest of her welcome party were they weren't going to hang around and let her fight her way out of it. And they were bound to appear eventually… she'd be none the wiser even in her last breath.

Ginny took several deep breaths. She could withstand hunger, pain, cold and anything life and the Order had thrown at her. Everything except sleep deprivation. Just thinking about it, made her stifle a huge yawn. And even with adrenaline pumping through her system, she could still feel the tendrils of sleep creeping into her mind…

Think, think, think 

For what happened next, Ginny could only thank her lifetime with a houseful of brothers, growing up with the twins, and a year with the DA.

His wand twitched, and she instinctively threw up a shield and threw herself to the side, dodging, in time to watch him leap out of the way as his own nasty looking curse ripping through the field and flitting off into the darkness.

She threw a spell at him automatically, and wasn't altogether sure what it was. It didn't matter; it flew into the night sky as some force pushed her arm up. Ginny threw herself flat on the floor as a wide and varied selection of curses lunged at her, missing her by inches until she pulled his feet out from under him.

But he was already recovered by the time she had barely gotten to her knees.

They both opened their mouths

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_St-!"_

His wand soared through the night and he dived after it instantly, and into her before she had time to respond. Her body softened the blow of his shoulder as he crashed to the ground, landing heavily on top of her.

The wind had left her body with a strangled scream. Something hard went into her stomach. Her wand was firing off every charm, spell and curse that ran through her mind. But they soared away like psychotic fireworks and she found her arm pinned by the figure scrambling over her. Without thinking she started wiggling like an eel, and grabbed his belt, yanking him back down, before hitting and kicking with her spare limbs.

It didn't make a difference, except for a grunt. Then his face was over hers, his hair just barely brushing hers, his weight making it hard to breathe and a malicious grin glaring down at her. One of his forearms was now being pressed down on her neck.

"Move, and it'll be a fucking painful end for you."

He started leaning over her, swearing, searching for his missing wand, his hand switching between checking the ground and holding it upwards, screaming into the night:

"_Accio! Accio wand! _Bloody _accio!"_

She felt herself gagging, breath catching in her throat and she tried to find a way out of the dead weight on top of her… From somewhere she found the strength to push him half off her, aided by her fist landing somewhere soft in his mid-drift.

A snarl and he pinned her back down on the ground, holding the top of her arms and pressing her into the rough earth.

He started to say something; a malevolent smirk ingrained already…

But the shift in position freed her trapped hand; the spells echoing through her mind woke her up. She jabbed her wand into his side, a flash of blue light and he was off her, suddenly unable to touch her.

Ginny sprung to her feet, quicker than he could react, training her wand on him instinctively. With a rock in his hand and blood now pouring out his nose, he glared at her with something that wasn't quite human. She slowly began to catch her breath back, swaying as the blood rushed to her head.

It was then, basked in the reappeared moonlight and severe yellow of the street light, that she recognised him.

"_Draco Malfoy_?"

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and smirked, a glare of uttermost loathing returning him to humanity. "Took you long enough, didn't it Weasley."

She looked down at him as she walked closer. He was just sitting there, his hands resting idly on his knees as if dogfights in the middle of half frozen fields at night were the norm. And, perhaps the scariest thing, was that he looked so peaceful… still. Inside, she was shaking with mental exhaustion, the adrenaline finally leaving her system, only to be replaced by the steady beat of her heart as it ricocheted in her head.

But this was by no means the first time she'd been in a fight to save her life. When his arms began to go loose and sneak down his sides surreptitiously, she fixed her most professional glower on him.

"Hand's where I can see them, git," she ordered in an equally professional tone that did little to hide the hot emotions that were bubbling behind her wand.

Very slowly, and never letting his eyes leave her face, he turned his palms up to the heavens, that little smirk still on his face, years after he strutted around corridors and classrooms.

Ginny watched him like a hawk, resisting the urge to hit him with the strongest Bat Bogey curse she had…just for irony's sake.

Malfoy uttered something so quietly it was almost whipped away with the breeze. "What's stopping you?"

She did nothing, wondering what in the hell he was talking about. Somehow he picked up on her uncertainty and rolled his eyes.

"Why," he said very slowly, as if talking to a mixture of a young child and deaf old man. "Are. _You. _Not-"

Quite unable to listen to his voice – despite getting deeper, it was still just as a grating as ever at this present moment in time – she put a silencing charm on him, smirking at the momentary indignant face he pulled before returning to his sullen hatred.

She allowed herself a small smile, feeling slightly more relaxed. "Now that's better… _Accio wand!"_

Not taking her eyes or wand off him for a second, she sensed, rather than saw, the object fly towards her and land somewhere softly around her feet with dignity. She bent down and picked it up, knowing not the snap it. The amount of younger members of her department she'd witnessed getting a rollicking for destroying wands – _and crucial linking evidence_ – surpassed the point where she could forget.

Ginny was also reminded of the various raids she had experienced, heard and read about, that had all gone terribly wrong.

"_Petrificus corpus," _she whispered, enjoying the look on her victims face as his body froze. Unable to resist, she removed the silencing charm…

But no string of threats or cussing left his lips. He just glowered at her as she bent down to his level.

His voice croaked into life. "Why don't you just-"

"Bat Bogey you?" she finished, watching blood trickle into his mouth and into his hair at the same time. "Trust me Malfoy, it is tempting. But I think a visit through the fair halls of Ministry justice is better for you."

Even talking to a Deatheater, especially one that deserved everything he got, she was unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of her voice. He'd get everything he deserved. If cover jobs weren't a necessity for the Order, she'd be out of that accursed Ministry building so fast…

"I'm sure this is a contradiction of your Wizard Right's Act-"

"Oh shut up," she muttered, standing up and kicking him so he rolled onto his back. She couldn't stand to look at his sanguine face or hear his stupid remarks any longer. She didn't even bother to point out the various – known, never mind suspected - violations he alone had committed. Looking around the field, she felt a scoff rising in her throat…

For the third time since crash landing, she felt like her stomach had been dipped into the Hogwarts Lake at Christmas. There, drenched in the surreal light that lit this nightmare, Ginny saw a pale figure on the ground.

"_Lumos."_

Unwillingly she walked over and found a man lying on his side, his neck and back at the all the wrong angles. A pale young face was looking at her feet, a thin trickle of blood winding down from his opened mouth. She willed herself closer, not seeing the absorbing black clothes until she concentrated on them. All she needed was his left arm to be exposed in a dramatically cinematic pose and she'd be set up…

Too used to Deatheaters and the dead to be affected by a dead Deatheater, she returned cautiously to Malfoy. He was right where she left him, not even attempting to move. Or at least, she didn't see any efforts…

"W-What's the name of that man over there?"

Draco was silent for a moment. "Take the bind off me then."

"Say please."

"Now."

"Fine then. Who's you're friend, _git_?" she asked, her full annoyance and anger returning. Her mind suddenly grasped something… that man… he was the one chasing her in the air, he was the one who had tried to kill her in the sky. Draco was merely the pick up boy, here in case things had gone wrong - Ginny failed to see how they could more wrong – and to keep a look out… There were no more of them. She could take her time. Nothing would be missed and no one followed up for a while… she had time… time to think…

"Maybe I don't want to say… Maybe his family will be incriminated…"

Ginny stepped closer and jabbed her wand in his cheek. "And maybe it's that time of the month, I'm the mood for losing my job and going a bit crazy feels like the right thing to do."

Draco looked at her. Right in the eye, his own eyes reflecting the sky above. "I'm not telling you, even if you try and intimidate me with your female mumbo-jumbo. You haven't seen crazy, my girl."

"You'd be surprised."

But he didn't seem to listening to her. A frown had appeared on his face. "And maybe his family deserve some pain. Perhaps they deserve not knowing where their son is."

It was then that Ginny really felt sick… _Charlie…_

"You're a bastard, Malfoy. You really are…"

She hadn't meant for her voice to catch and collapse beneath her, but it did. So she shut up, hoping that she could outstare him with itchy eyes.

A smirk. "Comes with the territory. If it helps, you're a bit of an prissy bitch…"

But she wasn't paying attention. She was tired of his games… There was a way of alerting the Order but she needed a fireplace. She could fire out an emergency distress signal but considering she had the situation "under control" she'd be up to her armpits in _Magic In An Exposed Muggle Area_ fines until the next blue moon.

His voice, again, interrupted her jolting thoughts…

"As far as I'm aware, saving you're life makes you in my debt…"

At this point, Ginny did actually laugh.

Draco waited patiently for her to finish, and answered her gasped question. "_Yes, I did_. Your quick thinking didn't conjure that blanket spell…"

Her amusement was pulled from beneath her like a rug. "It was you?"

His eyes flicked over to the general direction of their deceased counterpart for a second. "I tried to get both of you. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I chose you first and got him too late."

Ginny swallowed and glanced over at John Doe… She didn't even feel one jot of regret or guilt, just the enormity of a feeling – one she couldn't name – that had landed in her chest when she realised that Draco Malfoy, _Draco Malfoy, _had saved her life. Inadvertently, yes. Unwillingly, yes. But saved it he had. She stared down at him, his irritating smile, and knew what she'd have to do.

Silently, she stood up removed the body bind.

"Can I have my wand back?" he asked, staring up at her like a child.

"Only if you _promise_ not to use it," she answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Bugger off. Malfoy. I really wouldn't recommend pushing me at the moment." She paused, feeling something not unlike empathy twinge in her chest. Thankfully, it was nothing to do with the excuse for a human being in front of her. But at the same time the stress that had balled up in her mind seemed to expand, pushing against her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose and flexed her fingers. "I'll let you go, if that's what you want, despite the shit storm that is hovering above my head. But I have one demand."

He stood up and made no attempt tidy himself. A slight scowl appeared on his face. "I hardly feel you're in a position to-"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy. Trust me when I say I will hand you, and all your friends, over without any remorse, to hell with debts."

Draco Malfoy shut up, gritted his teeth and spoke civilly. "What, then?"

"Take you're little friend with you."

He stared at the body, and then at her, with equal disdain. "I'm not touching that little tosser. I wouldn't touch him in life, you reckon I'm going to when he's dead… like that?"

"To be honest with you, I don't give a monkey's what you think. Just take him with you."

Something that Ginny didn't like one bit appeared in Draco's eyes. "Why are you bothered?"

She bristled at the breathed question, and the logical part of the her brain told her that she didn't care what this low life piece of scum thought – "Many reasons, Malfoy. Mainly I don't want to deal with the paper work."

_Yeah, that would be a real bitch, actually. _

"Just a shame that wasn't the real reason, eh Weasel?" He was informed that he didn't know what he was talking about, and should shut up unless he wanted a wand entering a random orifice, magic or no magic. This simply widened the fledgling smile on his face. "Soft spot?" he whispered, "Heaven forbid that something should have happened to one of you're litter…"

Ginny made the decision to not rise to it… But it took a lot of effort. He was looking right at her and she knew, finally, what he was pulling on her…_Legilimency_. The immortal words of her brother had come back to haunt her.

The only way to play with these wankers is to dish out exactly what they give to you. Don't even think about it, you can be sure that they don't think twice about hitting you with everything they've got – all curses under the sun and anything else you wish to imagine. If you're lucky, you'll get one that likes the feel of his own wand, but, if, god help you, you get a clever one… even when they're disarmed and staring capture right in the face they can find a way of wiggling out of it and practically make you hand their wands back over to them…

"…So I was right. Hmm, but _which_ _one_? I hope it's Ronald-"

"I don't recognise him," she murmured, suddenly, taking herself (as she didn't know where she would go with this) and Malfoy by surprise. Not giving him the opportunity to speak, she continued, desperately thinking of the next word to say. She knew that breaking eye contact and not keeping an eye on him would be just as deadly as watching him without resistance… _Keep talking…_ "I mean, I recognised _you_, but not him. He looks pretty young. What's an old hand at this doing with wet fish's like him?"

No smart arse reply or cocky comments. Silence. The hedges surrounding the field rippled in the breeze, applauding. She'd found her ace.

"How many years has it been? Six? Seven? They must go so slowly doing all that grunt work. No respect at all-"

"You've made you're point," he growled. "I'll do it."

She gave him the most acidic smile her arsenal. "Great. Walk over there. Hands on your head…"

He complied, only a half hearted – _"Do you want me to pat it and rub my tummy at the same time?"_ – in the way of complaints.

With her eyes on him all the while, Draco bent down and gingerly picked up his comrade's wrist. Neither of them recoiled when and odd noise emanated from the body as Draco stood up, slightly dislodging… something. Personally, Ginny felt a cold shudder spiral up her back. Draco's lip just curled and he looked down at his associate, and he muttered something darkly under his breath, that didn't sound unlike – _Just my fucking luck_

"Right," Ginny said with more finality than she felt. She was at a loss suddenly at what to say, and suddenly unsure if Malfoy didn't have some huge trick up his sleeve, and she'd soon find herself with everyone she'd lost…

"Don't take this personally, but I'll be glad if I never saw you again."

A smile flickered. "Trust me, the feeling is entirely mutual."

And then he disappeared. Ginny watched the spot where he had stood. The ground showed not the faintest sign that a murderer has ever touched it, as if no body had lain there – and it simply absorbed all her fear and anger, leaving her in numb shock.

She didn't leave the field for the longest time and made no moves to, except when her knees turned to water.

* * *

Draco knew he shouldn't have apparated out of there, but he did. He should have stayed, perhaps fighting to the death – or, _oh no_, another body bind – and gone down in a blaze of glory…Or in a prison cell. 

As soon as he felt sweet, soft flooring beneath his feet he let go of his passenger. He looked down at him for a second, wondering vaguely what would happen if the carpet was ruined – lord knew, he hadn't the faintest clue how the get blood out of fabrics. Images of levitating the body up to the table made him shudder… he didn't know what to do with this… body… this body of a human being lying at all the wrong angles on the carpet of his study.

Then he sighed and really looked at Hearne.

_Perhaps I'm going soft…_

He wiped his face, wincing, and then stared at the blood on his hands, unsure whether it was his, Hearne's or maybe Weasley's.

Then a voice at the door dragged him away from a possible deep thought. "Draco is that-" A heavy pause. "Holy shit… what happened?" He watched them in the doorway, the blinding light of the hall behind the figure made him squint. Their expression was hidden from him. "Is that Hearne? _Oh my god_, have you contacted the Medics? Is that _blood_ on the _carpet_?"

Draco ran his hand through his hair and stared down at Hearne. If Ginny Weasley thought she had a shit storm about to descend on her, she really had no idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter J.K Rowling's**

**A/N:Chapter Three - longer than the rest, took the longest to write so far, and the one I like least :S Ah well. Very little violence and swearing, and very little action in general. Again, un-betaed so excuse the grammar errors and plot holes. **

* * *

Draco stared outside at the warm summer sky. If he had a drop of poetic blood in his soul, he would find a way of describing how the swallows soared in and out of the lilac trees, or how the bright blue sky contrasted so much with the vibrant green, flat fields so much it made his eyes hurt… Instead he turned his back on the window and stared into the darkness of his study, waiting for his eyes to adjust. But he was too used to the place to be bothered to look at it with any interest.

He'd rather be outside in the gardens (perhaps _not_ on a broom), or spending the afternoon in Diagon Alley… But instead he stayed in, keeping a low profile from people looking for him.

An owl clucked impatiently, grabbing his lost attention again, ruffling its feathers pointedly. Draco idly passed it a treat, after rooting out the packet from the back of his desk and helping himself to one. He chucked the bag back into the depths of the drawers when the owl flew back out through the window. It's delivered letter lay with ominous innocence on the table.

At some point early this morning he had fallen asleep. The nights he had spent since… _oh Christ…_only three days ago had not got any better. Dreams of falling, nets disintegrating in front of him and the ground rising steadily to meet him mingled too easily with Hearne's laughter and someone's scathing comments, waking him up in a cold sweat. He'd loved to then spend his time lazing in front of the fire with a glass of something strong, brooding moodily, reflecting on the fate of his soul. But he knew the routine, the doomed battle his mind would put up after every task and so would stay in his bed, sometimes watching the sunrise, sometimes falling back into a guilty sleep.

After a few moments of warily staring at it, Draco picked the letter up and ripped off the seal. Someone ought to have seen him by now, but he had neither the nerve or suicide wish to make enquires…

Sighing, he let the letter drop to the wooden counter again.

_We need to talk _

_P_

Falling back into the chair, turning around it in it, he started laughing…

Impeccable timing, as ever… 

He was expecting something so much worse-

As he placed his feet back on the floor, the fireplace to the right of him roared into life. Draco was on standing in a moment, watching the green flames flare up as far up as the mantle before a figure emerged and stooped out of the grate. Whoever they were, they now had a wand aimed at them. He was not expecting pleasant company.

But as they straightened out, Draco's arm dropped involuntarily as his voice caught in his throat.

A drawn out man looked back at him, with an unreadable expression. A man he wished to god he had never met in the first place, and, after yesterday, prayed that he would meet never again. After what felt like an hour of staring, Draco found his manners from somewhere and inclined his head politely.

"Good afternoon, Mr Hearne."

The gesture was returned with equal stiffness, and he quietly declined everything he was offered.

_A drink? _No thank you. _Some lunch?_ I'm not hungry._ A chair?_ I'd prefer to stand.

By this point, Draco was at a loss at what to do. His new company seemed to be thinking, their mouth opening occasionally before closing, and he decided to leave them to themselves for a minute. This did not, however, prevent an uncomfortable feeling engulf him… Hearne, like his son, was tall, although the wiriness that had made his son so popular with women seemed to be fading away his father. But he still had the same absorbing dark eyes that demanded attention – though this quality seemed to have bypassed the son – and ageless brown hair.

"I am sorry if I have interrupted anything," came Hearne's first volunteered speech. Draco thought vaguely of events before his arrival – the spinning and laughing on a chair – and decided that he wasn't leading the most hectic of lives… Hearne continued without a response. The slight rasp and cough of an unused voice soon disappearing. "I, and my family, wish to- to thank you."

Draco tried not to look surprised, and he thought he had carried it off. It was his voice that betrayed him however. "Excuse me?"

A small, wry small appeared on Hearne's sombre face. "Thank you," he repeated placidly. "You may not realise it, but you did my family a great good."

Even after the sentiments were repeated, it made less sense to Draco than before, distractedly wondering if it would be acceptable for him to make himself a drink and fall into a chair.

The man continued. "Do you remember the Kings Cross incident?" A pause as he waited for recognition. Draco was not included in that particular event, after all, why would someone with as low ranking as him be _allowed_ to even know… "The Carrow's even didn't get their son's body back. Those bastards at the Ministry-"

At this point Hearne came to premature end. The breath had left Draco's body and he was now at even more at a loss at what to say.

The silence dragged on. The birds outside sang, and the perfectly blue sky mocked him. "Mr Hearne, I really don't deserve your thanks. I don't deserve anyone's, least of all yours or your family's."

"Perhaps," came the murmured reply. "But I'm giving it to you, and I wouldn't recommend refusing any offers of kindness at the present moment." Draco felt a hot surge of anger and embarrassment all at the same time, and started to croak a question that he didn't want to ask – but Hearne was already answering, business like tone taking over. "I'm sure you're aware that you're…well…"

"In the shit?"

"To put it bluntly. Yes. Has anyone spoken to you?"

At this point Draco fell into his chair and his company followed suite after a moment's deliberation.

No one had seen him. That was the worse part. Forgiveness was not given out freely, or with any willingness, mistakes held over the person for months, years… a lifetime. His father was proof of this – a sin so bad that his son was still reeling from it. But, Draco mused darkly; he didn't need his Father's gracious help to fluff up…

"No."

Hearne nodded pensively before speaking once more. "I'm going to be honest with you, Malfoy. What I've said, and what I am going to say are things that I never have done before. My family owes you more than a thank you – we owe you our closure. My wife especially… In short, we are in your debt." Draco swallowed an ironic smirk and the thoughts that circled it – he had not finished speaking. By this point Hearne was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, almost whispering. "I may be able to help you. I know enough to be an influence on several people, people that could perhaps… aid you. Avery owes me a rather large favour, for example."

A frown was beginning to pull on Draco's face and he looked the man directly in the eye. "I made a mistake, Mr Hearne. You of all people should be condemning me for it. I didn't do what I was sent to do – it was my own inability that lost what little favour I had with Him."

Hearne sat up correctly again, and rubbed his stubble-ridden chin. He looked drained and tired. Draco's initial awkward feeling returned - he wished the man no ill will, but wished he would just disappear.

"But Malfoy, I'm sure-"

"Do you really think that I'm going to have any vestiges of respectability left once this is over?" Draco interrupted sharply. "I know I'm lucky to still be alive, and I'll be more than bloody lucky to be alive this time next week. Do you think that I don't know what's going to happen to me? I've been in this too long to be hopeful."

They fell silent.

Draco stared into the empty fireplace. The dust had long settled since Hearne's arrival, and now the pair of them sat in continued pensive silence. He needed some time alone to sort his head out – to get what exactly his thoughts were, and put them into words. That had been increasingly hard in recent months – everything he wanted to express to make himself clear got clogged up somewhere, so he was left with a lump of unrefined… things swirling around in his conscious…

Maybe I'm just getting stupider… or more stupid… 

"I may have not made myself clear perhaps," he intoned quietly. "I am grateful. But He can see into your lies, find your weaknesses… It would be foolish to even try. No one can influence him, those who think they can care just deceiving themselves. The Dark Lord has always worked alone, and we are at his mercy."

_Mercy… what a laugh. _

Hearne shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fiddling with something within his cloak pockets. "I know. It is – as you say – ridiculous to even discuss it."

"Or think it," Draco added, not looking at his visitor.

"Yes. I felt that I should at least try something…"

"Well, thank you, but don't. I'm sure your wife wouldn't like to lose a husband as well as a son."

By this time, Draco was on his feet. He didn't want to see Hearne – or his new uneasy stance - anymore, nor was he particularly in the mood for talking to anyone. What he did want, however, was a lifetime alone (perhaps in a Scottish glen with a rather busty local barmaid) doing nothing more aggravating than boil a kettle.

Hearne got the hint. A shook hand, a green blazing fireplace, and the man was away. And Draco was alone.

* * *

An ache rumbled around somewhere in Ginny's midriff. Earlier on in the week, somewhere in the small hours, cramp in her side had woken up out of stupor as she found herself surprised for a moment to be in the middle of a field. But then it hit her, and she sprung to her feet, ignoring the searing pain that ripped through her muscles. The world around her was deadly silent – a fox or cat scuttled just out of her range of vision – as she checked herself for any damage. Nothing. Malfoy had stayed away, kept to his worthless word, and she was still here.

And she here she was, here at the moment being a comfortable seat behind her desk. A half finished evaluation lay in front of her, which she concentrated on when someone walked past. The rest of the time however was spent on daydreaming, occasionally rotating her chair lazily to keep the circulation continuing along her legs.

"Christ you look like death warmed up."

Ginny's attention snapped forward as someone slammed a pile of papers onto the desk. Andrew, coffee in hand, collapsed into his own chair, a massive grin on his face.

"A simple 'morning' will suffice," she muttered, inspecting the sheets that had been so ceremoniously dumped in her area. "These are for you to fill out. See – has _your_ name on. I may do everything for you, but I seriously am not doing your pissing red tape."

"Hmmm, I believe this-" he indicated to the plate at the front of his table, _Andrew Collins – Head of Department for the Magical Diplomacy and Regulation – _"says I can."

"Oh, smart comment, Andrew. Almost as smart as your tie is obnoxious."

Clearly hurt, he patted his vibrant green, Quaffle studded, tie with care. "Luckily my intelligence doesn't have degrade into witty banter-"

"Yeah, we've all been _saved_."

"-as I control the amount of money you earn."

Ginny shut up, mumbling to herself as she pulled over the files. _Confidential Personal Only. _

Interesting.

Opposite, sipping bad humouredly on what was most likely a bad coffee, Andrew read the morning paper. She watched him for a moment, noting the lines of stress that were forming as he read further into the editorial. As for herself, Ginny never read the things. Everything she needed to know was always available to her, the truth waiting for her whenever she paid her friends a visit. She took a valuable piece of advice – only use the Daily Prophet for the crosswords, and then as a temporary cat litter tray.

She dragged her head down to her desk. A quick scan over the text and she had a frown on her face to match her colleagues'. "I really don't think I should be doing this-"

With more force than was perhaps needed, Andrew threw his cup in the general direction of the bin. "Just bloody do it."

With a withering look, Ginny gathered up the papers and walked over to his desk. "No, seriously-" she dropped them on his work-free area, "-this is about a raid. The Auror's should be looking at it. Not us. I'm surprised my fingers haven't been burnt off, or worse, by the confidentiality charms…why are you smiling? Don't smile."

"No one's told you? You were sent and owl last night – well I was – _informing _us that we now are going to deal with the more delicate legal situations. We're transferring to a new building – whole lifestyle change. I think the new office is somewhere in the Outer Hebrides. Nice bit of wind and rain to clear the cobwebs away-"

"Don't be an arse. Why have I got this?"

A helpful shrug. "I'm not sure – it's a warrant for a raid for some suspected DE. The Auror's want it air tight…"

"Yes I can see that," she said bitingly, "And the Office of Law is what…on holiday?"

"I'm not sure," he answered with the most annoying grin. "Apparently this is one slippery character," he glanced down the page, blinking his eyes blindly for a second. Finally, after a moment of holding the paper further and further away, he as able to read. "Ah yes – possible links to killings, both Muggle and Magical for starters, ending with Dark Art supplies for dessert." Ginny moved behind him to get a better look, leaning on the back of his chair and peering over. Andrew tilted back and showed her more closely. "And this is just the stuff they're almost certain about. Yummy."

"Who is it?"

Ruffling through the parchments, Andrew searched for a moment. Ginny spotted the name a second before he read it aloud, and felt all the blood in her disappear, along with the pit of her stomach.

"Draco Malfoy… Hmmm, no picture. Ah well. Sounds like the sort, doesn't he? Most likely a Pureblood twat, a silver spoon up his arse."

All Ginny could do was smile weakly, and accept the information back off him, mentioning something about getting started on it. Safely behind her desk, she shoved it hastily into a draw and continued with some other work that had mysteriously arrived, sending messages, writing letters and generally getting cramp in her hand. Finally, Andrew sighed dramatically and announced that he was dieing of hunger, and was going to get some food. It meant that Ginny had an hour, while he lost several games of snooker at the local pub, to look at the Malfoy file.

The door had barely clattered shut before she was scrutinizing it. It was pretty run of the mill – accept for the privacy note – in appearance, and more or less normal (as far as warrants went) until it got to the information page.

Known Killings – None, known to be present at others 

_Suspected Killings – Numerous - suspected in many – never direct evidence_

_Torture/Injury inflicted – Several serious inflictions on Ministry personal, several minor cases, three serious on Muggle. _

Unforgivables – Imperius, Cruciatus, possible Avada Kedavra 

_Other Information – Son of Lucius Malfoy, associate of other active and prominent DE's_

And on the list went. She knew stuff that wasn't even on Ministry radar yet – things her friends, her brothers (Ron was especially explicit) had said, and threads of conversations she'd over heard.

The ache, which she had purposely put down cramps, rippled ominously again. It could not, she knew, be a coincidence that the warrant – and imprisonment by the looks of things – of the person she was indebted to now lay at her fingertips. Her eyes were drawn to charges and offences on the list. Names she recognised – for various reasons – littered the text.

Despair threatened to engulf her. The more she thought and looked, the more and more obvious it became what she would have to do to get rid of the gnawing in her insides. But another consequence swam into her mind - the people that would be saved more pain and anguish if Draco Malfoy didn't slip through their fingers once more…

Perhaps she ought to pay the north coast of Scotland a visit, set up her own office there where she would deal with the regulation length of rats tails, apothecary prices or something as equally dull. Something that didn't require soul splitting decisions. But there really shouldn't be any choice in the matter – she could see what he had done with his life since he had left Hogwarts and had known to well what he had done within them. And what that had resulted in. The perfect world outside the magical window calmed her down and she returned to her thoughts a moment later. She knew what he was like, what he was doing, done and would do in the future. She had seen what Deatheaters left behind in rooms and minds, and she saw her brothers, her friends all living their lives from one disaster to the next.

She grabbed her jacket and stalked out of the office. It was occasions like this that made her itch for her broom, which had got her into this mess in the first place.

Without registering or seeing anything, Ginny found herself outside and looking onto a bustling Muggle street. Another grey London day, the distant buzz of the centre and the hum of traffic moving everything along. A quick glance up at the mix of beautiful and disgusting architecture and she was on her way.

Fate was really beginning to piss her off.

* * *

It wasn't often that Draco found himself doing something without first thinking it through. Slytherin, after all, had been his House and home for years. His subconscious – as far as he was aware – had very little to do with his day-to-day life. This was why he was so surprised to find himself in the Hogs Head, with an altogether fuzzy memory as to how and why. With any luck, it would be an _Imperius_, which would just be a fantastic stroke of cruel irony as he was in Hogsmeade. If it was the case, someone would want him here – something would be happening.

Years of doing it meant that his head kept itself down instinctively, hood up, blending with the rest of the characters in the bar. The wizened innkeeper remained polishing the same dirty glasses with the same dirty rag that he'd had for as long as Draco cared to remember.

Despite the health risks, and having already seen the other glasses here, he ordered a drink and found himself a seat. It wasn't that bad here, not really. It was hot, but unlike the customers at the nearest pub, no one was straying outside to enjoy the summer sun of the evening. His, and everyone else's aside from some really iffy figures near the far corner, cloak remained on. Enjoying the relaxing bustle, he took a sip. It was nice to just get out of the house – even though he really shouldn't be anywhere remotely public.

He'd spent an afternoon in deep meditation (napping on the sofa) yesterday thinking about his present situation. Perhaps another solstice was needed now this thing with Hearne had popped up…

I should be so lucky… 

Someone sat down next to him.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

It had been a long time since someone had called him _Mr_. Draco's guard was immediately up.

"Who are you?"

The person was a girl, well a woman really, and had her hood down so her tired face was fully visible. Curly black hair, made darker by the surroundings, modestly tied back and even darker eyes. Something he recognised…

"I'm Aine Hearne."

"Hearne?"

Another? He really couldn't get rid of them. Surreptitiously while swirling his glass, he took a good look at her. From his knowledge of her father, Draco could only presume that the prettiness came from her mother's side. But as he have her a fairly charismatic smile, she stared at him icily.

"Yes. I've been sent to give you some information."

"Oh. Right."

Draco had no idea where this particular member of the Hearne family was trying to go. Paranoia sniffed a trap. He waited for her to continue, hoping that her meaning for discussion wasn't as uncomfortable as her father's… though that did actually seem impossible.

"Well… I have some information for you."

Draco nodded and didn't move away as his new companion shifted a little closer to him. She had no drink. Something of his thoughts must have wandered onto his face, because the cool reception he had suddenly got a whole lot cooler.

"I know you've heard of my family, Malfoy," she said coldly, "so I don't expect I have to prove my alliance to you." Draco would never have dreamt to ask from which side she was coming from - his question was not who, but why. She continued. "I work in the Ministry – in the Department of Aurors. My friend got me the job," she added pointedly. "Your house is going to be raided."

"What?"

Now she looked a little uneasy. He had said that a little too loud.

"Your house - It's about to be raided." she repeated, snapping, edging around in her seat. She looked like she wanted to be a million miles away.

Draco frowned at his lap and thought for a moment. There was something he didn't understand. "Has your father sent you?"

"My _father_? Why would he tell me to do anything?" Slight outrage had taken over her previously barely covered disdain.

"It doesn't matter," he dismissed, "more importantly, when is this going to happen?"

Looking moody, Aine answered. "In about two weeks."

"Any particular time in those weeks?"

"Look, I _don't know_!" came the waspish reply. "It's not going to happen before this time in two weeks."

Whether or not this was the pot calling the kettle black, Draco wasn't sure about her information – she looked barely eighteen. Fresh out of school, a wet fish in the Ministry, how could she know anything? There could be the chance she was just the delivery girl, but why not send a protected Owl, or send someone with a little more… calibre. His mind sighed, running off a million thoughts, all of which culminated into one feeling – he wasn't worth any more than that. He wasn't worth more than a new girl. He wasn't worth more than a big nosed git with a broom problem…

These musings must have continued for too long. Aine interrupted. "Well?"

"Who sent you?"

A smirk. "Well you can be sure as a Hippogriff's arse it wasn't my choice. Some of your friends wanted you to know. They felt it would be _great_ if I told you."

Draco nodded and slowly pulled back his hood. It was slipping anyway. "Friends or associates?"

"Associates, of course."

They shared a moment of bitterness.

"Two weeks then," he surmised. "Can I buy you a drink?"

The mutual hatred for authority figures had vanished, and all of that feeling was directed back at him. "No. I hope I have made it clear that if it was up to me then-" She stopped. Someone walked past her and her venomous tone inverted. "-_Goodbye_, Mr Smith. Don't hurt yourself."

"I'll try just for you," he muttered darkly, mulling over his whiskey and thoughts. Miss Hearne (how wrong it sounded, even in his head) nipped out of the door, not holding it open for the man that walked in. Plain clothes, but they reeked of Ministry personnel. Draco sunk lower in his seat… The new man eyes were trailing and grazing the bar, before strolling over to the bar man. He was watched back more subtly than they realised.

Draco, however, was not one of those people keeping an eye on the new arrival. He returned blankly to his glass, noting that it was a lot emptier than he cared to agree with. Suddenly finding the pub unbearable, Draco gathered up his things, pulled over his hood, drained his glass and braced himself to enter the summer sun.

When he got out, weaving his way around the tables and people, the light was just as abrasive as he suspected. It didn't matter – he had no intention of looking up and around at the landscape anyway… He was going to get to the Apparation point and get the hell out of here.

* * *

Ginny decided within ten minutes of arriving that this was the single best lunch time she had spent. Tonks, sporting her trademark hair, had the day off and was sorting out some random strands of paper work. Ginny knew the feeling too well, so when she came into kitchen, saw the sky high piles of work, immediately tried to back out. But Tonks had just laughed that they were Remus' – Ginny however suspected that these papers belonged to neither of them – and dragged her through the back door and into their garden.

That was where they sat now, gracefully sitting on a dilapidated bench and basking in the beautiful midday sun. Tonk's hair seemed to give off its own light, and her face was even brighter now departed from her work and talking idly.

They sat in pensive silence for a minute, Ginny watching the hive of activity that was the garden. The flowers – and numerous unwelcome plants – were in full bloom and created a colourful jungle that was not unlike the Burrow, and exactly like the woman stood next to her.

"Hermione was here a while ago. I felt so guilty about the flowerpots alone," laughed Tonks. "But Remus wants to sort it out… I just don't have the stamina. The gnomes are becoming frighteningly territorial."

Ginny listened with a numbed interest. This bench really wasn't stable, and was creaking mournfully with the two of them lounging on it, their feet balanced on a plant pot and old box respectively. Ginny thought with no small amount of guilt of her own deserted garden. She looked after it a little, but if the truth was told she really didn't have the will any more. When she was younger, gardening seemed to be nothing but chasing garden gnomes and making mud bricks with Ron and the Twins. Now it seemed to involve either weeding on hands and knees, or battling the pests – both magical and other – away from her flowers.

"I think I'm going to move back into the city," she mused aloud. Tonks stayed looking on ahead, giving a brief sideways look. "I mean, it's useless me having that big house in the country and not even enjoy it. Like, I don't even think of myself as having a garden. All I do there is sleep, and occasionally eat."

"You're not alone there, Ginny."

"Well, I know," she mumbled into her mug, slightly embarrassed. "I'd prefer it better in a flat. Less maintenance I guess. Plus I only seem to stop pot plants from dieing at the moment…"

Tonks smiled knowingly. "Sounds like a plan – rather you than me with the moving. Bit of a random topic, though."

"I suppose," Ginny sighed, wishing she imagined the meaningful tone in Tonks voice. "I actually came here to talk you about work, of all things."

"Oh really? I don't see how I can help with anything helpful, except the coveted technique of getting the best biscuits… Trick is – the tea lady usually puts them near the bottom. Reckon it's so others won't have them so there's more for her."

Ginny already knew this from her own, and her brother's, experiences but laughed anyway. It was nice sitting here, the sky now sprinkled with clouds, making the sun gentle and less severe. "No, something more serious. A lad at work got into a Wizard's debt…"

She waited for a reaction but Tonks simply stared at the wilderness in front of her, a slightly frown pulling on her face. She made a non-committal noise. "They can be nasty. What has he been told to do about it?"

Tonks wasn't taking the bait. Not surprising really… She should have asked Ron – things would just be a lot simpler with her brother, who had only realised that Ginny did actually lead an independent life.

Ginny shrugged, thinking as surreptitiously as she could for a sound and airtight reason that would pass an Auror's paranoia without letting the conversation wander.

"I don't know all the details exactly-" _Oh, yeah, brilliant start _"-I heard from George that he knew someone that had gotten into a debt with one of the less desirable allies the Ministry sees fit to employ."

"Oh?"

_George? George? _Tonks now looked amused, and it was beginning to rile Ginny, not unlike the times when she was excluded from Order meetings.

"Right ok – I do understand that he's probably having me on. I mean, he said that this poor boy was saved by a _hag, _of all people. But I was just curious about what actually happens if you were to break it."

She now had all of Tonk's serious attention. "What's wrong with asking Hermione?"

Ginny had actually considered Hermione, but knew that she would not only have a textbook, slightly dry, response, but her brother would mysteriously know that his little sister had been asking about magical debt's. She explained this carefully to Tonks who laughed understandably.

"Fair enough. I don't suppose she'd know, or admit to knowing, anyone with it. People tend to be quiet secretive with debt's."

"Yeah, I can believe that."

"I don't think anyone needs to go the gory details. But depending on the scale of the debt, the feelings between the people, an ignored debt isn't pretty."

Suddenly it was very cold. "What if someone saved your life?" she whispered.

Tonks shifted on her seat delicately. "Debt's can pass down generations if there isn't an opportunity to repay. But if it's ignored on purpose then…"

The sentence trailed off miserably. They both returned to watching the jungle in front of them. A moment later the conversation steered onto something paradoxically mundane.

* * *

Someone grabbed his arm.

"Malfoy!"

While his hand went straight to his wand, it was only years of… doing what he did that prevented his mind going blank, and his reactions to slow. Two things might have caused this – Ginny Weasley touching his arm and calling his name in public, and the towers, turrets and stone of Hogwarts sparkling merrily in the dieing sun, the blazing glass winking back at him…

"What the- You don't talk to me in the middle of the fucking High street-!"

"Oh shut up."

She was pulling him to the side. They hadn't really been in the middle of a street - more to the edge, loitering around the entrance of the pub while he stalked out in what he hoped was an unapproachable manner. He would, obviously, have to work on that.

An empty crate clattered emptily and she let go of him, not wasting a breath. "I have some information for you."

Draco's temper stilled instantly. If his paranoia had been bad with a Hearne then what chance would it stand with Weasley – a Gryffindor, a blood traitor, a Ministry worker… someone had done her utmost to kill the life he led. Not that he was particular upset about her recent actions; it just didn't create the most stable environment in which to exchange pleasantries.

"Your house, it's going to be raided."

And he did something terrible. He started laughing. Soon after that a wand was jabbed under his chin and a thoroughly pissed Weasley in his face. The outburst stopped immediately and he pushed her roughly off, slightly repulsed at himself for letting his guard down. She could have killed him then, if she had wanted to. He shouldn't have even left the house… he should have stayed wandering aimlessly around his study – perhaps indulged in a little indoor Quidditch to _really_ liven things up…

"What's your problem? I've come here to help you and you just-"

"_Why_ are you helping me again, Weasel?" Oh dear. They'd reverted into childhood names. "Oh yes, I remember. Because I saved your life… Am I supposed to be _ever so _grateful for the fact you're merely paying back a debt. And not with any grace if I-"

Weasley looked at him darkly for a moment. They were quite far apart, more so than normal conversation rules dictated. But it seemed strangely fitting. Behind him, basking her figure in a glorious sunlight, the sun was dipping out of the sky. It was getting darker earlier each night, the warm breezes that pushed his hood back soothing thoughts of a pending winter…

"Your house. This Thursday. Morning. I've told you, the debt is repaid."

This Thursday? The day after tomorrow? 

She walked off, but he caught up with her and blocked her way. "This Thursday? Are you sure? As in… this week?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I saw the papers myself."

"I don't believe you, why would you tell me…"

"You said so yourself, Malfoy. The debt."

Draco's mind was racing, checking her voice, her stance, her eyes to see a sign of untruth. There were ways of getting around commands and obligations. It could mean that date in five years time or a leap year… in August.

"The debt is not repaid. Only _I_ can say when it is."

He hadn't quite expected her reaction. He'd have loved her to go mad, shout and scream at him in a fit of rage, and he'd watch calmly, elegantly replying with some pre-made insults, tearing her up in one smooth swoop. But instead she swallowed, obviously restraining something. But it gave no pleasure – she had after all not let him get the better of her… Her eyes flickered away from his for a second, looking around at the pub.

"My colleague is there – you want to know which department I work at, Malfoy?" she enunciated clearly, making sure he heard every last nuance of utter hatred. "I know what the warrant says, I know how it's been written. You have no idea what is going on. An order has been signed for an automatic imprisonment and a freezing of all assets if a piece of paper with Dark Lord so much as written on it is found. I haven't saved your life, Malfoy, but I've saved everything else thing you value."

"What do you know of what I value?"

But she stalked off, and he saw her join her friend. It was the Ministry worker from the pub, the one who had barged into deep conversation with the barman. Draco watched him shrewdly for a second as the pair of them walked off, Ginny clearly being interrogated as to what she was doing. Then he disappeared, apparating – though not before sending a filthy look in Draco's direction – leaving Ginny alone.

She didn't even look back.

* * *

**And next chapter? Ooooh, a raid, and apology and the Twin's shop **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - horray! I've been on holiday twice :D! so this has been deserted for a while. That and I'm really bad at applying myself to something. I don't particularly like this chapter but I'd like your opinions on it - improvements, good points etc - all the same. Unbetaed version, so be gentle. **

* * *

_She didn't even look back…_

Bitch.

Draco swung around in his chair moodily. She'd heard him, he _knew _it. He had yelled it, somewhat foolishly, loud enough that he caught the attention of passers by.

But now he was here, home, where he had started earlier on in the afternoon, watching the last of the sun's light disappear behind a row of willow trees. The clouds had suffocated the day into a premature night, and Draco stared out of the window into a sky that matched his mood. The mess his mind was in before seemed to have expanded even more.

He spun himself around in the chair again.

_This Thursday? The day after tomorrow? _

Thursday…

Bloody hell… what was he going to do? He had less than a day as far as Weasley was concerned, but did he really want to trust someone who was forced into passing on information like that? Did she even hold enough rank – or whatever they had in the Ministry – to see that kind of information?

A nasty voice in the back of his mind told him exactly the same could be applied to Aine.

_It's not going to happen before this time in two weeks._

But what did he have to lose? He was a dead man whichever way he looked at it.

Ginny felt marginally better. That twisting sensation in her chest had gone, and the further she walked down the high street, the less and less she could remember of _his_ indignant face, and the more she could congratulate herself on taking the higher ground and ignoring the prat's idle threats. It was over. She was free from the week she wanted so badly to forget. Nothing but a Friday and the weekend ahead of her, perhaps even she'd call in on her parents.

She sighed, and fished out some sickles from her pockets. One last look at that school on the hill, one last smile, and she walked into the post office in search of a Floo.

As soon as she entered the office back at the ministry, she knew something was wrong. Andrew was sitting pensively in his chair, watching her shrewdly as she rushed through the door. No Apparation jokes, no comments about being late or just the general red hair mockery taking. Nothing.

Ginny wiped the smile off her face, and hastily put her desk between herself and her boss.

"What's up, Andy?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as reedy as she heard.

"Who was that man?"

There was no point really pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. Feigning innocence would just make things worse. He didn't get to the head of department by sitting on his cushioned chair, reading Russian literature and eating chocolates. He was an old field officer, one of the Auror's to be trained up for the last war, only to find it abruptly ending, and had transferred – with greatly described reluctance – to one of the many blossoming offices that emerged with peace…

"An old school friend," she replied, deviating quite dramatically from the truth. "We bumped into each other outside the pub. Did you get what you want from the Hog then-"

"You two didn't seem very friendly," he interrupted quietly, calmly stating his position. "Who are they? I think I recognise him."

_Oh Merlin_

"Really?"

Andrew leaned back in his chair. She wished he would stop watching her. For once all she wanted to do was get her head down and do some paper work. Finally he spoke. "Yes. But I don't know where from. What's his name?"

_His name? _

"Bob."

"Bob?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, wondering if she could have picked a worse name. "Robert really, but everyone calls him Bob."

The shadow of a frown was forming. "Bob who?"

Ginny's eyes wandered down onto the desk. "Bob Wood."

A pause as he regarded her carefully. Ginny could almost taste the questions that were in his mouth, the questions that she would have been asking herself. But he kept quite and changed the subject, returning to something of his normal self. It was disconcerting to say the least, and when Ginny got home that evening she sat on the sofa, staring blankly into the fire, thinking quietly.

A week had barely passed in her life had been morphed into something uncontrollable. She felt like a piece of laundry that had had been washed, wrangled and hung up on a washing line inside out. The heavy rest of the debt in her chest had gone, only to be replaced with something much worse; the fluttering of guilt. Ginny rearranged her position on her chair, and watched the dying embers as she had done for the past hour or so.

_It's August_, she kept thinking, _I shouldn't need a fire. I should be putting some extra time in an HQ… Merlin knows Mum could use all the help she can get after all these years. _

All this to avoid the fact she'd lied to her boss, knowingly and willingly let a particularly nasty piece of Deatheater work off the hook, endangered the lives of hundreds of people, jeopardised her position in the Ministry for the Order…

Ginny felt like she was going to be sick.

Andrew liked Ginny. Not in _that_ way – well perhaps – but she made a change from the rest of the miserable, arrogant or downright stupid that the great halls of the Ministry was filled with. She was funny and smart, and while obviously the job she had wasn't her dream one, she seemed to get her head down and get on with it pretty well. He was glad she was on his team, with him on the occasional times they went out _into the field _(a term he had never ridded himself of due to mingling too much with drunken Aurors out of work) she had often been the one to stop trouble before he had ever even considered its existence.

Ginny had laughed when he mentioned he used to be one, an Auror, a long time ago. It had been just before the Ministry had even rejected claims of Voldemort's return. Ironically, he'd just gotten bored of that life, and wanted to find something different to do with himself. Drifting from one department to another, the Ministry, loathe to let an Auror go completely, demanded he filled out his five year contract one way or another. And so he had found himself in this department, assistant – of sorts – to an evil old woman who had no intention of considering a man more than half her age to be her equal. But luckily, she retired shortly before Andrew's plans of killing her with her own fairy cakes (which Andrew never got even the faintest whiff of unless they were in company) were complete.

So Andrew found himself in charge of a sub-department, and after years of orders from Auror officers and Ms Bagshaw, it was somewhat of a head rush.

He stayed on after his contract had finished, and barely a year after that, Ginny Weasley arrived in his doorway.

From the very first day, he knew something was off with it. Official reason cited that she'd been given a job here because the department was 'chronically undermanned'. Bollocks. Andrew barely had enough to do on his own all day, let alone with someone like Ginny Weasley.

Maybe it was her constant questions for crosswords – which he despises – or some of his old Auror spirit rattling at the prospect of actually doing some good instead of extending the paper trail, but they started to branch out. Investigate. Just get out of the office and chase up some of the petty criminals that no one had the time, inclination or resources to follow.

Luckily the department name was ambiguous to get them anywhere. Especially with the shiny ID clips they'd been given.

And it was on these trips that he knew, almost at once, that she was an Auror in office clothing. With his own experience of Auror life and characteristics, he treated her with a little more trust than perhaps he would have done.

He knew she wasn't always honest about things; reports were sometimes late, he got a bit of cheek now and then. But they were small things, and she had demonstrated over and over again just how strong her integrity was.

Which was why, he was so utterly and completely riddled with suspicion when they had last spoken. She was lying, he knew it, and it was something big. Something huge.

Something, one way or another, to do with that man in Hogsmeade.

Andrew had got a good look at him – pale face with matching blond hair, dark expensive robes, and a somewhat pointed face that simply added to his arrogant expression. But that had only been the first sight of him; as soon as he and Ginny had spoken all of that arrogance had vanished, replaced with anger and fear. Like a trapped animal.

And for some reason, this had lead him to let himself into an old friend's office to have an inter-departmental meeting.

"More coffee, Andy?" Dan asked good humouredly, indicating subtly to a hidden bottle of whiskey.

"Nah, I'm alright thanks," he replied, grinning and picking up a biscuit from the plate on the desk. "I trust these are from the bottom of the pile."

"Of course. Some things never change."

They talked idly for a minute or two – Andy and Dan had worked together in a past life, and usually met up in this fashion; talking business while actually consuming alcohol and confectionary items. Eventually, he gathered his nerve and asked his question.

"I was just wondering if I could ask you a question."

Dan leaned back in his chair. His smile hadn't disappeared, but simply widened. "Fire away."

"Ok, well you know a lot of people, right?"

Andrew was sure his face would never return to its normal shape after all the smiling this man was doing. "I like to think so. Name?"

"Weasley."

At this point he actually laughed. "Which one? And I'm sure everyone knows one of them."

Despite his attempts to be seriously, Andy felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "Ginny Weasley, I hear she applied to the Auror department a year or two ago."

In the various quests he and Ginny had done over the last few months, Andrew had been here, asking for information on people. Dan would always rant about how his power was not to be abused, before routing through his records and misplaced some files temporarily. But now he just sat back pensively in his chair and nodded a few times.

"We don't have any information on her, Andy."

"But she applied-"

"I know," came the quick interruption as he lent forward, his voice quite hushed. Andy wasn't sure what the softness was needed for. "I remember her; I always make a point of following the progress of the better wet fishes. You know I do."

Andy nodded rapidly.

"Well. This Weasley was pretty good; they all are to be honest. Something to do with growing up with a houseful of brothers and being at school with Potter may have had a hand in making her perfect material. She took her prelim exams, passed with ease and was all set to go into full training…"

"….but?"

"Her application was vetoed."

"By who?"

Dan stared at him blankly for a moment. "A close family of men, all with connections in the Ministry, personal friends with Harry Potter and several other important people? It was a wonder she was allowed to get her hands on the application forms."

"So she was bumped off to another department," Andy mused aloud. "To somewhere harmless and safe."

Dan's expression turned painful. "Yeah. I think that might be it."

Maybe that's why she had launched into their little excursions a little too happily. But Andrew didn't care about that, not really. What he had really wanted was the file, with all the other pieces of seemingly random information that came with standard Auror profiles. He'd seen past partners on these things before, and this was his strongest suspicion of who this man was. That had to be the reason she was so elusive with the name, so stringent with information.

That's what he hoped; for both his and hers sake.

Andrew rubbed his face. It had been a long day – his department might be unnecessary, but it certainly created a lot of paperwork when no one was in the office all day, especially when he had let Ginny go early.

"What's going on then Andy?"

He gave Dan the best smile he could with a head full of sudden, deflating tiredness. "It's a long story. And probably nothing."

"They're always the best. And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company. Now bugger off out of my office – I have many important things to do and I'm much to busy to see you."

"Sure, sure you are," Andy mumbled, getting to his feet slowly before quickly grabbing some biscuits and half running out of the office. He would have made it as well, if something hadn't caught his eye.

One side of Dan's wall was awash with all kinds of paper and documents he hadn't got the space to file. So he simply stuck them onto the wall. The thing that had caught his eye was part of a photograph, covered almost completely by a takeaway menu and something about goblin fines…

Andy slowly pulled the photograph out, and found that it wasn't a photograph after all.

_DRACO MALFOY: UNABLE TO BE CAPTURED. WANTED BY THE MINISTRY FOR QUESTIONING. _

And there, beneath the faded writing was the face of the man Ginny had been talking to. In the photo he looked just as arrogant, but younger, as he talked to a hooded figure in the bottom right hand side of the picture. The black and white picture hid the paleness of his skin, but somehow sharpened the whiteness of his hair, slicked back revealing his face without interruption. The photo moved occasionally, somehow managing to look disgusted by the fingers that were holding it. Andy recognised it at once. It was the man.

But the name.

Draco Malfoy. That rang a bell…

Dan had come up behind him when all these revelations had been going on. He glanced at the paper in his hands and tutted appreciatively. "Malfoy? Yeah, he's a twat and a half. I went to school with him – thank Merlin I was a few years above him. Nasty piece of work from what I hear."

Andrew didn't hear much more. Several big things had just come together in his mind.

Ginny had Wednesday's off. It was the best part of her week. The day she would spend at the Palace, really helping for once. Ron had tried to insist that her assistance started and finished with cups of tea but had failed miserably. And it was even more important considering she didn't make the Auror process, much to her initial dismay. So she'd taken the first decent Ministry job she could get, and thrown herself into Order work. It had been great. She even managed to combine the two, using Andrew – who, being an ex-Auror – always had a bit of a penchant for _field work._

And so, everyone else, finally, had got the message that she wasn't a little girl anymore.

Besides, there wasn't any room for little girls anymore.

So it was on a fairly sunny afternoon that Ginny sat going through notices, copied documents, internal memos; any scraps of information that had been gleaned from the Ministry. It was under Hermione's insistence that they did this; hoping to find patterns not only in attacks, but Ministry dealing of them. Because if they could spot them, it meant that other people would as well.

Hermione was perched on a chair opposite. It had been a while since Ginny had seen her; each of them wrapped in their own worlds, making the week apart seem much longer. They had briefly hugged, shared a few minutes of chatter before settling down to work.

"There's going to be a raid," Hermione said suddenly, breaking the quiet that the temperamental radio filled. Ginny mumbled something in reply, hoping not to sound too disinterested. There was always a raid going on. Everyone knew that. She continued reading a pre-edited article from the Prophet. A minute later, Hermione's voice interrupted again.

"Aren't you bothered who it is?"

Ginny looked up. "Pass the bloody Floo directory – it could be anyone. You know that."

Hermione's parents house had been raided before now, but luckily they were both away and still didn't know about it. Their daughter however, created the eighth circle of hell for the poor guy that had commissioned it. No one had found out why, or what was going through Ministry minds, it happened.

"But it's Draco Malfoy."

Slightly unnerved under Hermione's gaze, Ginny took a sip of her tea. "Oh right. I think I heard something about that."

Hermione didn't even miss a beat. "I'm not surprised you heard about it. Your department finalised the paper work according to this. And it was only the other day!"

There was something in her tone of voice that, rather than making Ginny want to spill the beans on what had really happened _the other day, _make her bristle and switch into defensive. "Well actually, Andrew did that. And as far as I'm aware, it's no longer Ministry policy to blab about every warrant because I don't think even they're that stupid."

"But why didn't you tell us?"

"It only came through yesterday! And what difference does it make – it's an open and shut case!"

_Please, oh Merlin please, drop the subject…_

"That's not the point," Hermione snapped. "You should have told us! It could be important."

Ginny was losing her temper. She didn't need this at the moment, not from anyone, especially not Hermione. "You mean I should have told _you_. It has nothing to do with you, Hermione. If I was going to tell anyone, it would have been Tonks or Dung. The people who are _actually_ concerned with raids like this."

"The fact remains, though," came a voice from the doorway, "that you didn't tell me."

It was Tonks, watching the scene between the two of them with an odd expression on her face. She was looking at Ginny carefully, before she turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, Ron wants to see you. He's just Flooed over from Wales or something."

Without a word, Hermione left quickly, with barely enough time to throw a dark look at Ginny. Tonks stayed.

"Just what was that about?"

Ginny fell back into the chair. She had obliviously stood up during their argument. She hadn't realised that she had lost it that much and now all she felt was deflated and guilty, the sensation nibbling away in her chest.

"You know she was just trying to help," Tonks said quietly as she stepped further in the room, echoing the thoughts in Ginny's head. "You should have told us, Gin, you know that."

Staring at the cup of tea that had been placed in front of her, Ginny sighed. _Just when things were starting to go right as well…_

"I know," she mumbled. "I've had a lot on my mind, and it was rushed through like you wouldn't believe. The raid's tomorrow you know."

"And you had the papers yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"Merlin. Looks like they're finally getting their act together. Honestly, they've been trying for ages."

Ginny felt her heart plummet to her feet. With no small amount of trepidation, she turned and faced Tonks, who was pensively cradling her own mug of tea. "Trying what?"

"To get Draco. I think this time they'll be able to nail something on him. Finally."

That heavy feeling had riddled itself back into her chest. This was going to be the end of her. If she wasn't a nervous wreck by Monday, she could list many people who would tear her apart if they found out what she'd done.

"What exactly has he done?"

Tonks frowned in thought. "I'm not sure. Rumours of killings but definitely the other two Unforgivables. I think they just want some leverage over Lucius, to get him out of whatever rock he's residing under. I doubt it will work in that way, but it can't hurt having Draco Malfoy off the streets."

Ginny hid behind her mug. "Yeah. I suppose you've got a point."

Draco allowed himself to relax. The steam of the bath misted against the mirror and leisurely swirled around the lights. He sank beneath the water, enjoying the heat behind his eyes and feeling his hair seem as if it had left his head. It'd be so easy to slip to sleep..

Eventually, however, he needed to breathe.

He was tired, more so than usual. Raids had become more frequent – before it had been some pathetic attempts by the Ministry, where they would almost sheepishly knock on a door and glance around. The warrants were rubbish, and any decent defending lawyer could run rings around them and get any evidence removed. That's if they ever found evidence; most of the time they picked on the most random of people – he had heard rumours that they had inadvertently raided a few Muggle homes. The image made him laugh.

Now though, things had changed. Quite a few people had been fined heftily – almost as if the Ministry knew that imprisonment would be pointless – and the raiding process seemed to be less of a guy picking names out of a hat, and more of an actual planned manoeuvre. Aurors were brought along. And not just the grunts – the ones they could actually crack codes, avoid traps and the rest. The… _clever_ ones.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

So he wasn't taking any thing for granted. Although a lot of it had been moved, sold or destroyed, Draco gutted the house of everything that had been brushed with any Dark materials. Books, potions, mirrors, masks, some odd looking vials and – he found this at the bottom of a chest – a snuff box that launched himself at him. He even threw away cauldrons, not before cleaning them so they sparkled, and _Scourgify_ing the entire house from top to bottom.

And now, his final preparation was to have a bath. On the extremely slim chance he was detained for a long period of time, at least this way he wouldn't smell like a homeless Crup.

Genius really.

The Aurors wouldn't be here until at least midday, and probably later, less they miss their lunch break. And then he would saunter downstairs – preferably via the grander of the staircases – and throw his righteous weight around in the muddle that would be his raiders.

Merlin, these people were so predictable.

Just as he was starting to really relax however, the bathroom door slammed open and three men fell into his bathroom. There was a moment of silence as they all looked at each other.

Draco broke the silence. "Who the fuck are you?"

Before they could answer though, the worse person to possibly walk in his bathroom while he was bathing did so. Ron Weasley, complete with Auror field uniform wandered in. They looked at each other for a second – Draco trying to retain as much dignity as possible, and the stupid overgrown Weasel with the biggest grin on his face.

"Not a fan of bubble bath then, Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth fully expecting something witty to come out. "Shut up, poof."

* * *

**R&R ;)**


End file.
